


The Warp and the Weft

by FireflyFish, lilyconrad



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Multi, The Force working in mysterious ways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8250425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireflyFish/pseuds/FireflyFish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyconrad/pseuds/lilyconrad
Summary: Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force. 
"We are all a part of the great Cosmic Force and whether we like it or not, when called, we must answer. 
Even if we're dead, Anakin."





	

They say the Force works in mysterious ways.

It surrounds us.

It binds us.

It knits us together into the fabric of the cosmos, vast and infinite. 

Each of us has a part to play in the great skein of the Force, Living and Cosmic. We all have our roles, our natures, our destinies. For some, their lives are simple. A single person, in the right place at the right time, can tip the balance of fate. A son’s love for his father or a newfound family stitching itself together in a snowy forest are all part of the great cosmic dance of the Force. 

All lives are important, from the slaves of the Kessel spice mines to the loftiest spires of power in the galactic government. Everyone is a thread in the grand tapestry. Some are brilliantly colored and hued across the spectrum of light. Some are pitch and ash, shading joy with grief and pain. 

Most lives are the warp, running along their natural path until they reach the end, until they rest, united in the bosom of the Force.

But some lives… some lives are the weft, the strands that hold the whole of eternity together. These strands cannot break, must not break, for if they do...

If they fall… 

They take the whole world down with them.

These strands can be repaired, of course, the soot and scoring brushed off and the frayed edges tied back together. 

The damage can be undone but it will require a thread of equal strength.

And so when this happens the Force sets to work, repairing itself and the universe, tying the golden weft back into place in the hopes that this time…

This time they would get it right.

* * *

 

Rey woke from a nightmare of fire and heat, of ash falling like snow and lightsabers flashing in the growing darkness of a dying sun. 

_ You need a teacher! _ He screamed at her as the world crumbled beneath her feet again.  _ I can teach you the ways of the Force! _

Rey spent some time taking deep breaths and trying to settle her jangling nerves. When she finally felt her heart rate slow and prickly anxiety loosen its hold on her gut, she stood up and walked over to the window. Looking out onto the blackness of space, she imagined that the distant stars were spilled diamonds set in a sea of ebony velvet. 

She wondered how many were out there and which one Luke Skywalker was hidden away on. Soon she would have to leave the safe haven of the Resistance and their small but devoted fleet of ships. She would have to take the next step on her journey to whatever her destiny was.

But not yet, not until Finn was better. 

He had come back for her when no one else had, risked his life and Han Solo’s and even the whole galaxy’s freedom to save her. The least she could do was stay until he was better, to help him heal from the damage wrought by Kylo Ren. Her great and mysterious destiny could wait.

Truth be told, she was a little nervous about it. Destinies were not something that happened to orphaned scavengers from Jakku. 

Great and portentous destinies belonged to people with names like Skywalker, Solo, and Organa. Rey couldn’t even remember her last name.

The chrono on the bedside table chimed 0600 and she decided it was time to get up and try to leave her dark thoughts behind for later, to lose them in the delicious pleasure of a hot shower with real water.

She took a short one, as she always did, enjoying it but feeling guilty about using so much water no matter how many times Finn tried to explain the recycling system or Poe said to enjoy the nice things while they had them whenever this particular subject came up.

When she was done, she dressed in a simple tunic and leggings, pinning her damp hair up for now and sitting cross-legged on her bed to attempt meditation as she always did this time of morning.

It was slow and awkward and she hated it, if she were being honest with herself, but she had understood the necessity of it since her battle with Kylo Ren. The Force had been there, ready and willing to help her, but she hadn’t known how to reach out to it and it had been sheer luck she’d stumbled into its embrace when she did.

Closing her eyes, she followed the directions remembered from a holo given to her by General Organa, her only guide as none of her friends were really the type to meditate themselves.

_ Focus on one thing. One thing you know very well. _

She had chosen a Rebel helmet when she’d started this weeks ago, the battered one she’d kept inside the old AT-AT that had been her home on Jakku for so long. She imagined the white surface, covered first with insignia and markings and then again with scuffs and scratched. When those were in place she added the dull orange of the visor, its surface slick despite years in the sand and pleasantly cool to the touch even on the hottest of days.

_ I hate visors. _

Rey paused, unsure of where that thought had come from, and went back to imagining the helmet, the heft of it.

_ They get in your way. What are they really supposed to protect you from anyway? So your cockpit blows up in a fight, but your eyes are ok? _

She frowned, eyes still closed.  _ I like that helmet! _

Rey tried to recall the guiding words of the holo she had watched and a particular phrase drifted up to her awareness, like the first bubble of boiling water. 

_ Observe your thoughts. Do not judge them or chase after them. Merely watch them pass by, like speeders in a skylane. _

Rey took another deep breath and continued her meditation, focusing on the feel of the helmet in her hands, how the constituent parts would rattle against each other when she placed it on her head, the curve of the helmet precariously balanced on her hair. Her breath grew steady and even as Jakku began to unfurl before her, hot, dry, and dusty. And bright. Unnaturally bright. 

_ I never understood why Mother brought us here. _

Rey watched the thought rise up, watched it hover in the blinding heat of the midday sun. She had always assumed that the memory of a woman’s voice promising to return for her had been her mother but this thought seemed odd, almost unnaturally certain of her childhood. 

_ Do I know who my mother is? _

Rey sent this thought out into the wavering mirage of Jakku, which was really far too bright for midday. Maybe she was facing a light or perhaps the ship had slightly altered course and now she was facing into a nearby star. 

_ Of course I know who my mother was.  _

Rey’s eyes flew open and she let out a curse, practically jumping out of her bed. She looked around the room, dashing over to the dimmer switch and turning it on to full. Light flickered and flooded into the room, chasing away shadows as Rey tucked herself up in the corner between a bulkhead and the window. 

There was someone in the room with her.

Someone was inside her mind, speaking to her, whispering to her in the one place that should have been safe. The one place where no one could get to, not even that bastard Kylo Ren.

_ Where is my lightsaber? I need it! _

The saber flew from its nest in her bag and into her hand before she really had any conscious thought of calling for it. The blue white blade leapt to life between an inhale and exhale and Rey found herself in a strange position relaxed and defensive at the same time. 

Almost as if her body had moved without her permission or guidance. 

“What… what is happening?” Rey asked the room, a tremor in her voice as she had to consciously will herself to power down the blade and lower her hands and even then, she felt an irresistible urge to ignite it again, to hear the familiar hum in her ears and through the Force.

_ I don’t know _ , said the voice.  _ Where am I? Is this the Death Star? _

Her hands tightened around the saber hilt, focused on the comforting, soothing weight of it. If she just kept it out, at the ready, she could face anything. Right?

“No. I don’t know how to use this,” she told herself. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

_ Of course I do.  _

She ignited it, or rather her hand moved of its volition, and watched as she spun it in a beautiful swirl from one side of her body to the other.  _ Oh stars, what is happening? _

_ I haven’t had that kind of control in my right hand in years! Wait. Kriff. I think I scored the floor.  _ Her hand powered the blade down as she looked down and sure enough, found a faint black soot mark streaking the plain metal floor.

“All right, that is enough!” she declared, using her left hand to take the saber away from the right and throw it back in the bag. “I am going to see the medic.”

She turned for the door and promptly passed out, tumbling back into her bed in a boneless slump half on and half off it.

* * *

 

The floor was cold and smooth, unnaturally so which led to the logical conclusion that it was artificial. Following that conjecture, and the faint hum of a ventilation unit, it was clear that the floor was inside and most likely in a ship of some sort. Quite large since there were no sounds of the engine or vibration from stress as they moved through space.

“Where am I? Why am I on the floor?”

Silence greeted the questions, hanging in the stillness of the room, the air scrubbers working steadily into the day. 

“Hello?”

Nothing.

He decided that it was time to sit up, and he rolled onto his side, surprised at how easily his arms and legs responded to his command. Usually there was a fraction of a delay as the cybernetics processed the directions from his nerves and then there was moving. It had taken time and no small amount of pain to return to a shadow of his former grace but he had managed it somehow. 

But this was different. This was instantaneous, sharp and quick, without any delay or ear-grating whirring that no one else could hear but the sensors in his helmet sent directly into what remained of his auditory nerves. The damn bastard who constructed that walking tomb of a suit didn’t even think about the simple kindness of silence when he designed it.

He frowned as something tickled the remote edge of his mind and he realized that he was wiggling his toes.

He had toes! And fingers! And his lungs were working erratically and he needed to breathe.

_ Breathe, just breathe. That’s all you need to do is breathe.  _

But he had feet again! And hands!

How did he have feet again?

The last thing he could remember was… The Death Star? Which one? No. That wasn’t it.

He died. Was dead. Had been dead for years. He remembered Luke, remembered the fledgling beginnings of the New Republic, the struggles of the Rebel Alliance to resurrect what he had so effectively destroyed.

But how could he remember those things if he was dead? Wasn’t he supposed to become one with the Force when he died? That’s what Obi-Wan had always said would happen, taking small comfort in being reunited with everyone he had lost during the Clone Wars and…

“Obi-Wan!” he said, his voice sounding strangely melodic and high. 

He remembered now. He remembered everything.

Anakin Skywalker pushed himself upright and staggered on his new legs into the refresher, looking for a mirror to see what had happened. To see if he was really flesh and blood because, the last time he was aware of things, he had been one with the Force and yet not, a consciousness unique and distinct. He stood, existed?, at the side of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, watching the galaxy struggle to right the wrongs he and the Empire had wrought. 

He remembered seeing his son begin to train a new generation of Jedi Knights and remembered hearing the cry of his grandson and the touched expression on Obi-Wan’s face when they learned the name of the boy, Ben Solo.

He remembered all of that but not how he came to be here on an unknown ship with a new form that seemed much smaller and lighter than his had been. He made it to the refresher and hurried to the mirror and let out a yelp of shock at the reflection that greeted him. 

“I’m a girl?!”

* * *

 

An hour earlier, in a far distant sector and aboard a ship that stretched out for near eternity along the cold glimmer of stars hung in the void, Obi-Wan Kenobi woke up in a cold sweat with a single, strange thought strung as clearly through his mind as the white jewels outside.

_ Wherever there is Kenobi, Skywalker is not far behind.  _

He lay there, perfectly still, trying to understand the sensations crowding in from all around him. There was darkness. The weight of a body. His body, warm with blood pumping to regular heartbeats that thumped against his chest. The feeling of a thick pile of sheets over him, the gentle tug of pants and a shirt on his waist and throat. He lifted his hands, every twitch of the muscles needed to do it sending a new sense of wonder through him.

_ These aren’t my hands. They’re far too young. _

Obi-Wan sat up, shoving the mound of covers off of him, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, surprised when they hit the floor a little sooner than he thought.  _ My legs are a bit longer, I think. _

_ Stars, what is all of this?  _ He had spent long enough in the tranquility of the afterlife to recognize reality for what it was, even if he had no idea how or why it had happened.  _ Not a dream. Something new. _

He reached up and ran his hands through his hair, pleased to feel what felt like his own hair. “Well, that’s good,” he murmured, wondering if he had somehow come out in the past.

Looking around for the light, unable to see anything but dim shapes and the wide window filled with stars, Obi-Wan stood and walked across to a small door he guessed was a refresher. The lights came on automatically as he walked in, brighter and colder than he remembered light being, and he held up his hand to shield his eyes for a moment, squinting.

When he brought it back down, still blinking, his reflection did the same. Red hair. Blue eyes.

_ But not me. What the--? _

He leaned forward, peering into the mirror and tracing a hand over his face, stunned as his fingertips told him that yes, he was touching his own cheek, his own clean shaven jaw.

But they were that of an entirely different man, one with much colder, sharper features than his own.  _ Who is this? _

Obi-Wan stepped back from the mirror, taking note of his martial haircut and meticulous sideburns. It reminded him of Imperial and Republic officers and based on the uniform grey color of what he assumed was his sleepwear, it stood to reason that he had somehow ended up in the body of an Imperial Remnant officer. 

Turning his head back and forth, testing the new flexibility of his joints in the mirror, Obi-Wan decided that whoever this was, he was not someone who dealt with war on the front lines the way Obi-Wan had. His host, for lack of a better word, was limber enough and there was a wiry strength in his arms and legs, but nothing quite like a Jedi’s physique. 

Of course, the last time Obi-Wan had been a true Jedi Knight was over forty years ago, so he knew he really shouldn’t complain. Tatooine had been hard on the body as well as the soul and he should thank the Force for its small mercies. 

_ The Force! _

Now that Obi-Wan was a little more comfortable in his new, taller body, he walked out of the refresher and back into his quarters, steadying himself in the middle of the room and closing his eyes. He began a simple breathing pattern, looking for the bright white river of the Force that had burned so brightly within his being for so long in the afterlife. Obi-Wan prayed that it was still there, that the Force had not left him here, blind and deaf to the world around him. 

The Force came to his call, swirling and frothing around him like a torrent of fresh water from a retreating glacier. The crisp, cold sharpness of it flooded through his senses and he took stock of his situation. 

_ Oh, thank the stars! _

Life teemed on the ship he found himself on, sharp, precise, and calmly furious. There were roaming patrols of what he could only describe as humans modeled after the Clones and various parts of the ship bustled with the presence of the active duty crew. Smaller flickers of life and light buzzed around him, escort ships and small fighters flying cover. Wherever he was, it was smothered in security and he wondered how difficult it would be to get out of here and back to Anakin.

Wait. Anakin was dead. Had been dead for years. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan called out, surprised to hear that his voice was lower and rougher somehow than he remembered from his previous existence. The difference was not that strong but it was enough to give him pause. 

There was no answer. 

_ Right. Well let’s figure out just who I am supposed to be.  _ Obi-Wan walked over to a data pad on the wall and activated it, surprised to see that it called for a retinal scan and wondered just how paranoid of a person he had landed in. 

The data pad flickered and went blank as the lights in the room dimmed and a desk to Obi-Wan’s right threw up a small assortment of floating holo screens. He walked over to it, nearly tripping over his larger feet and quietly cursed as he took more intentional steps, hoping he would get used to the extra height quickly. He wondered how it was going to affect his saber work, assuming he could find or cobble together a lightsaber. The sheer difficulty of being mortal and limited as to what he could do sent a wave of frustration through him. 

Everything was so much easier when one was dead and one with the Force.

“Well now, let’s see who you are, young man,” Obi-Wan murmured as he took a seat at the desk, flicking through data file after data file before he found one labeled  _ Personnel file, Hux, Armitage. _ He opened it and leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a beard he no longer had and arched an eyebrow as the man in the mirror appeared to hover in the air before him, blue-white and harsh, reminding Obi-Wan very much of Wilhuff Tarkin.  

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan smiled, an expression anyone who knew General Hux would find strange on that pale sharp face. “And I thought Obi-Wan was a bad name. You have my sympathies, Armitage.”


End file.
